


From Scars to Sentiment

by second_hand_heaven



Category: DCU
Genre: Begrudgingly Sentimental Midnighter, Body Worship, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Police Officer Dick Grayson, Sappy, Scars, or more?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 01:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15232626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_hand_heaven/pseuds/second_hand_heaven
Summary: "They're just scars, M," Dick says, through he tugs the sheets up to his chin and rolls onto his side."I know." It's a lie, of course, they're more than scars. He's seen Grayson naked before, that time in the Russian sauna was just the beginning, but right now, with Dick vulnerable beneath him, shying away from his eyes, it hurts.





	From Scars to Sentiment

**Author's Note:**

> For the amazing gin-draws who requested "who hurt you?" and "I think I'm in trouble" for dicknighter

 

M waits in Dick's apartment, bored. He should have been here an hour ago, and M has half a mind to take a door to the station to check on Officer Grayson himself. M's already washed the dishes, dried them and then found somewhere suitable to put them away, and now he's eyeing off the pile of laundry in the corner. Since when has he become so domestic?    
  
Footsteps approach outside the apartment door. The key slides in the lock, M can hear each pin click into place. He's on his feet and at the threshold by the time the door opens. "Hello, officer," M greets him at the door and slides his fingers through Dick's belt loops, reeling him in until they are hip to hip, chest to chest.   
  
"Uh-oh, I think I'm in trouble," Dick grins as he closes the door behind him.    
  
M presses Dick's back against the wood and looks down at him, a grin tugging at his own lips. "Aren't you always?" And by the looks of the bruise on his cheek and the split lip, yeah, Grayson is in trouble.    
  
"What have I done this time?" Dick asks coyly, through his smile wavers a fraction. Dick knows exactly what he's done, or what has been done to him, more accurately. He can't hide from M, not really.   
  
M's hand comes up to Dick's cheek, his fingers stroking across Dick's sharp cheekbone that's currently coloured purple and red. "Who hurt you?" Anger coils tight in his gut, but he forces himself to keep it at bay. The last thing Dick needs is another fight right now, especially from someone who is... whatever M is to him. Casual antagonist-slash-ally-slash-fuckbuddy? It's not like they've talked about this, though maybe they should.    
  
"Just some punk. I'm fine, really. Just need some ice." He turns away, tries to leave M's embrace, but M still has one hand linked with the belt loop.   
  
"Hey," M says, cupping Dick's jaw, “let’s go back to mine.” He poses it like a question, not wanting to push.    
  
Dick nods, leaning in to M’s touch in a way that ignites arousal in M's gut. M calls a door, one hand sliding around to grasp Dick's hips. They land in his bedroom, M's lips sliding across Dick's cheekbone with little butterfly kisses.    


"Hey," M says, two fingers under Dick's chin, tilting his head up to meet M's eyes. "I missed you." It's been a while since it's been just them, since they've had a moment alone where they can just  _ be.  _ Another time, he’d be on Grayson like white on rice, but something makes him feel sentimental tonight. He peels Dick out of his shirt, and together they divest each other of their remaining clothing.    


Free from his clothes, Dick Grayson looks glorious, his sleek frame toned and tanned. A few bruises, older than the one on his face, scatter across his skin. “I missed you too, “ Dick says, a vision of sincerity, and M melts a little further. Dick reaches up, arms circling M's neck, and M allows himself to be pulled down for another kiss.   
  
They fall into bed, M covering Grayson's body with his own, his weight held up on his elbows. He looks down at Dick, that lazy smile stretching across his lips, and yeah, that's what M's been missing. M kisses his way down Dick's jaw and throat, relishing each and every sound he elicits. There's a nasty white line across Dick's shoulder that captures his attention. He frowns at it, like it causes him personal offence. In a way, it does. M’s seen it before plenty of times, but tonight it sends something jagged and sharp through his chest. It’s a symptom of something greater, a disease taking over that his enhanced healing has no chance of defeating. Sentiment. 

Dick follows M's line of sight, finding what he was looking at. "They're just scars, M," Dick says, through he tugs the sheets up to his chin and rolls onto his side.   
  
"I know." It's a lie, of course, they're more than scars. He's seen Grayson naked before, that time in the Russian sauna was just the beginning, but right now, with Dick vulnerable beneath him, shying away from his eyes, it hurts.    
  
They fuck with clothes on mostly, a workplace hazard, really. There's no better time for criminals to attack then when a vigilante is ready to get their rocks off, and there's been more than one case of severe blue balls for M because some shitty arms dealer couldn't wait another ten minutes. So yeah, they've been  _ intimate, _ but far from intimate, if you catch his drift. He knows Dick has scars; he'd have to in this line of work. M’s seen a few too, but tonight something about those scars seems different. Or maybe it's something within M that's changed. He takes the edge of the sheet in his hand, peeling it down Dick's body slow enough for Dick to stop him. Dick doesn't stop him. 

Each mark M sees reminds him of how Dick has been hurt, abused, beaten, and it makes something in his chest tighten. "Who did this?" M asks, fingertips tracing along a gnarly scar across Dick's lower back. Raised and pink, angry, the scar looks fresh, though M knows otherwise.    
  
"What, that one? I think it was Two Face."   
  
M leans down, his lips ghosting over the tender flesh. Dick gasps. It's an odd sensation, kissing the scar, the tissue smoother than the surrounding skin. He runs his tongue over it, just to see, and Dick writhes against the sheets.    
  
Another one in the middle of Dick's thigh catches M's attention, evidently a gunshot wound. "This Two Face as well?" he asks as he moves lower on the bed, skipping past that glorious ass with barely a glance.    
  
"Penguin. Lucky shot." There's a hitch in Dick's breath when M's lips brush the scar.    
  
"Wouldn't have happened if you actually wore pants while traipsing along the Gotham skyline instead of fucking tights."   
  
Dick rolls onto his back. "I thought you liked my legs?"   
  
"I like your legs to be in one piece," M grimaces as he moves between said legs.    
  
Dick nods, conceding, "yeah, me too."   
  
M knows about the knee injury, can see the way the cartilage is a mess of torn tissue jammed into the joint. He knows it stiffens up in the cold weather, knows that a rub down and a heat pack is the best remedy. The fact that he knows it is quite telling, but he pushes the thought down to continue his exploration.  "And what about this one?" There's a slash across Dick's abdomen, the scar thin and well healed. It would have hurt like a bitch, M can imagine.    
  
Bitter this time, Dick says, "I think it was one of the al Ghul's. I don't remember." M doesn't push.   
  
Too many scars. There are burns and scars and and roughly healed fractures all through Dick's body. M hates it, hates seeing every mark, every blemish. He'd take it up with Bats, but Dick would have his head for it, and not in a fun way. Besides, he can't exactly blame the Bat, as much as he'd like to. It was, and is, Dick's call, not Bruce's, not M's, not anybody else's. So instead, M just sighs and turns his attention to a different scar. "What's this one?" he asks, eyeing a thin, short scar across the lower right part of Dick's abdomen.    
  
He traces a finger across the faint line as Dick laughs, "appendix."   
  
M smiles against Dick's hipbone, pleasantly surprised. Not all these scars are from Dick's selflessness, from thugs and kingpins in Gotham's streets. M moves lower, to Dick's knees again, where the skin is streaked with pearlized scars. "These?”   
  
"The amount of times I skinned my knees as a kid, I'm lucky to have any skin left there.” He winks at M, a sultry smile on his lips. “Speaking of me on my knees..." 

M laughs at that, shaking his head. "Not tonight," he says between kisses to Dick's thigh, the muscle and sinew quivering beneath his lips. Because fuck it, M’s in love with him, and tonight he’s going to goddamn worship Dick Grayson for all he’s worth.

 

_ FIN _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and Kudos are always welcome!
> 
> Feel free to message me on my [tumblr](http://second-hand-heaven.tumblr.com/)
> 
> -Nova xx


End file.
